Mirror
by bluemuriel
Summary: Booth and Hodgins fall into the evil mirror universe and must play along to survive. Leather, executions and smut. Written for a bitesize bones Crackfic prompt.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a response to a ****bitesize_bones** **Crackfic prompt from Amilyn: **

_Two of the group (pick a fun pairing: Angela & Cam, Sweets & Daisy, Sweets & Brennan, Angela & Brennan, Booth & Hodgins) slip through the Quantum Mirror on display at the Jeffersonian into a mirror universe from this one (Evil!mirrorverse from Star Trek—and remember that whoever is wearing black leather is bisexual, Goa'uld-infested universe from Stargate, gender-swapped universe, go crazy!) and have to play along to figure out how to get back._

The idea just wouldn't let me go, so I am completely neglecting the story I'm supposed to be working on, Reckless, to write this crazy thing.

Rated M, to be safe, for sex and violence. Leather, executions, and smut.

-.-.-.-.

**Mirror**

"Are you kidding me?" Booth watched Hodgins peer down one deserted Jeffersonian corridor, then another. "We can't be _lost_. I thought you knew this place like the back of your hand."

"Dude, relax. The storage room is just around the—corner." Hodgins stopped, staring at a dead end.

"Nice try, bug boy."

"Hey, _you _have no idea where we are. What about your wilderness-tracking Ranger skills?"

"Yeah, like _this _is a wilderness. You want me to leave a trail of breadcrumbs?"

Hodgins brushed past him and went down another hallway.

"Tell me why we're doing this again?" Booth yelled.

"_I'm _doing this because it's been the most boring week at the lab, and because Angela asked me to. _You're _doing this because I need your help carrying some big-ass painting back from the basement storage area… that is supposed to be _right here_."

They were standing at another dead end, with old curtained exhibits on either side of the hallway.

"So what _is_ back here?" Booth grabbed the edge of one heavy curtain, and pulled it back. It was a recessed display area, filled with about ten framed mirrors. They varied in size, from a few inches, to one that was as tall as Booth. Most were dirty or tarnished, and one was cracked.

Hodgins came closer, gazing over the selection of mirrors. "This is kind of cool. I wonder what time period they're from. There's no info card…"

"Look, Hodgins, I really have better things to do than…" But the largest mirror had caught Booth's eye. It was a very tall oval, framed by a textured gilt frame. And its entire surface was dark. Not dirty; it simply didn't reflect light. Maybe if I stand at a different angle, Booth thought, and went closer. No… This was creepy. He couldn't see his reflection at all. He saw _something_…

He leaned a bit closer. But suddenly there was a roaring in his ears, and it felt like he was falling in slow motion. His arms flailed, trying to regain his balance, and he winced in anticipation of smacking into the mirror. But instead, he sank right through, as if through a sheet of water. Desperately, Booth threw his arm out and managed to grab hold of Hodgins. But it was too late. They both tumbled through the mirror, into a swirling vortex that spun them around and stole the air from their lungs, before dumping them into a heap on the floor.

Grunting, they pulled themselves to their feet. They were not crunched into a dusty corner of the exhibit. They were standing in the hallway again. But the hallway was… different. It seemed darker. And the floor tiles looked like expensive stone. Booth wasn't sure what they were supposed to be made of, but it wasn't this.

Hodgins was dusting off the sleeves of his shirt. "Dude…" he said slowly. "Did that really happen?"

The hairs on the back of Booth's neck were standing up, his sniper senses on high alert. But he shook himself and said, "Let's just find that painting and get out of here."

They hadn't gone ten paces before Booth heard people approaching from around a corner. He slowed, and Wendall appeared, flanked by two security guards Booth didn't recognize. All three men wore the same uniform. A strange one: dark blue like the Jeffersonian lab coats, but much more military.

"Booth," Wendall said, "what are you doing down here? And—" As soon as he saw Hodgins, he barked, "Grab him!" The two other men lunged for Hodgins and held him firmly by the arms.

"What the hell?" Hodgins looked between him and Booth, as if waiting for someone to admit a practical joke. "And what's with the hair, man?" He was looking at Wendall's hair, which was slicked back like he'd been playing a greaser on _The Outsiders._

One of the guards jerked Hodgins' arm and said to Booth, "You want to start with him in one of the interrogation rooms?"

Wendall answered instead. "Later. We should report to Brennan first. Put him in with the others." And with a tilt of the head that meant Booth should accompany him, he turned back down the hall.

The guards were bustling Hodgins away, and he shot Booth a desperate look over his shoulder. Booth had just taken note of the types of weapons these men were carrying, and knew this was no joke. Quickly he felt for his own gun at his hip, and breathed a sigh of relief to find it still there. But he couldn't let Hodgins go without a word. "Don't worry," Booth told him. "I'll be back."

Both guards laughed at his, in a way that made Booth cold.

"You gonna tell me how you found him?" Wendall asked. Booth decided that his best poker face was the way to go, and after a second Wendall said, "Right. You can't tell me."

They went back up to the main level, and at first Booth was reassured by the familiar-looking lab platform and squints in blue coats. He and Wendall went up the steps, past two more guards.

Brennan was standing by a table at the far end, with a couple other science people Booth didn't know. They were examining a body, shriveled flesh and bone.

"No," Brennan was saying, "that's not good enough. They can see through that with isotopic analysis. We'll have to contaminate the remains more thoroughly. I suggest…" She looked up, then, at the two men's arrival, and gave Booth a distinctly wolfish smile.

He tried not to do a double take when he saw her hairstyle. It was a darker brown than he'd ever seen it, and had two stripes of color on one side. Thin blue-green streaks went from her temples over her ear and down to the end of her ponytail.

"I suggest we use the DNA database," she was saying. "We might not have ideal samples to plant on this victim…" She glanced up at Booth. "And I'll need to consult with my colleagues about who best to frame for the murder. But in the meantime…" Brennan wrote some names and dates on a piece of paper and gave it to one of the assistants. "Go down there and see what you can find," she instructed. "I admit, this one might be more challenging. But remember: we're the best. We can make the evidence say whatever we want it to say."

With that, she peeled off her gloves and tossed them carelessly on the ground. "Gentlemen." She turned to Booth and Wendall. "My office."

As they walked across the room, Booth took surreptitious glances around the building. It was definitely not the Jeffersonian he knew. There seemed to be fewer offices and lab rooms, in favor of this large open space surrounding the lab platform. A space that looked like an extravagant lounge. Comfortable chairs were placed next to tables, leafy plants shaded couches, and a few small statues decorated alcoves.

They reached Bones' office. The room didn't look dramatically different, but Booth had to catch his breath. Because when Brennan took off her lab coat, he saw what he should have noticed right away: she wore a white tank top and black leather pants. Black leather, that clung to every curve. And she had a gun strapped to her thigh. Hanging up the lab coat, she slid her arms into the sleeves of a jacket. A matching, very well-fitting leather jacket, which she zipped up halfway.

Then Bones took a seat behind her desk, while Wendall, and a dazed Booth, stood across from it. "I assume there's news?" Brennan leaned back in her chair and put her feet up on the desk with a clunk. Booth struggled to keep his face impassive. She crossed her ankles and rested her boots—black leather boots—right on some important-looking papers.

"We've got someone new in our dungeon," Wendall said. "Booth here has just brought in Hodgins."

Despite her lazy posture, she was watching the men with sharp eyes. "Have you?" she drawled. Her eyes softened a fraction, when she looked at Booth.

"Was there any… trouble?"

"Uh… Not much, no."

"Good." She smiled. "You know you have impeccable timing. Angela's coming tonight; we can deal with Hodgins then. Maybe the others, too. I think they've been here long enough, don't you?" Wendall nodded with an evil glint in his eye, and Booth tried to imitate him.

"So our goal here is the same as last time," Wendall said with satisfaction. "And the conclusion that our evidence should point to…"

"Is to show the corruption in Caroline's regime," Brennan said, "and to undermine some of the people she most relies on. If we make it look like she doesn't care about the citizens she's ruling, and she just kills people who disagree with her…"

"Which is basically the truth," Wendall added.

"Well, that makes Angela all the more appealing in comparison. Because she's more interested in making people happy, with cake and circuses."

Booth finally found his voice. "I think you mean bread and circuses, Bones."

She gave him a sly smile. "Right. Because you taught me this, after all. He's always saying," she told Wendall, "evidence is only part of the story. If we want to stage a coup, we have to win people's opinion. And the way to do that is through manipulation and reward."

"Tonight's party being some of the reward, right?" Wendall winked at both of them.

Brennan turned to Booth. "My partner in crime..." Her eyes sparkled in a way that would have been exhilarating, if he hadn't felt so off balance. "I think it's time you went to _interrogate _Hodgins."

-.-.-.-.

**A/N:** More to come.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

Booth walked down the stone corridor with a set of keys jingling in his hand. He found a guard standing outside some ancient-looking cells, and behind the metal bars, a wild-eyed Hodgins was pacing up and down.

"Thank God, man," Hodgins hissed when he saw him. "What's—Did you—?"

"Shut up," Booth said. He unlocked the door, then propelled Hodgins down the hall in front of him, while giving the guard what he hoped was a menacing smile.

Someone from another cell said, "Booth?" But Booth didn't look back.

He took Hodgins to a windowless room and locked the door behind them. The room held nothing but a chair with restraints attached to it. Hodgins shrank back momentarily, as if expecting Booth to actually chain him to it.

"Did you see," Hodgins asked, "who else was in there? I was locked in a cell next to Fisher and Zack! And they're both nuts, man. I mean completely crazy. They said—they said they were accused of being traitors to the Jeffersonian, and that they're going to be executed… _by Brennan._"

Booth leaned against the wall, his brain working overtime. Quickly he told Hodgins what he had encountered upstairs.

The bug guy was shaking his head. "You know what this is? It's—an alternate universe. That's the only rational explanation, except for the fact it's completely _not _rational. You know there's this theory, that for every choice we make, or every potential outcome, like flipping a coin—we only see one result. But each time, it's like another universe splits off where those different outcomes actually happened. And—"

"Hodgins, slow down."

But he didn't. He kept striding around the tiny room. "We've got to get back. We've got to find that mirror—like right now. Do you think anyone else knows about it? Do you—"

"The place is crawling with guards," Booth said. "We can't go now. We'll wait until later, when most people are asleep, and then we'll get back."

"That's it?" Hodgins stopped pacing. "That's your plan? Just wait and try to stay alive until nightfall? What are we supposed to do in the meantime? And…" He looked curious despite himself. "What's the deal with this party tonight?"

"Well…" Booth took something out of his pocket and gave it to Hodgins.

"What's this?"

"Brennan's business card. I took it from her desk when she wasn't looking."

Hodgins stared at it, just as Booth had done the first time. Then he started to laugh hysterically. Brennan's name and title looked the same, but instead of the Jeffersonian logo, it said, _The House of Reason: Forensics Lab and Museum by day. House of Pleasure by night. _

"So," Hodgins flailed, "so… we just play along and try not to get executed?"

"Yep." Booth clapped him on the shoulder. "That's the basic idea. And, you never know…" He thought of Bones' leather-clad form. "Could be fun."

"You're not the one locked up here!"

"I won't let them kill you, okay?"

"Why am I not more reassured?" Hodgins ran desperate fingers through his hair. "Hey—am I supposed to do some screaming now, because you're interrogating me?"

"That's not a bad idea. Even though, Bones… The way she said _interrogate_, I got the sense it was just for show. She, uh… She might be saving you for Angela."

Hodgins' head jerked around. "What does _that _mean?"

That evening, they found out.

-.-.-.-.

The lab was transformed. Strings of lights draped the walls, while the open area glowed like a lavish, intimate den.

Booth stood in the doorway of Brennan's office, trying to take it all in. People drifted around the room, talking, laughing, and sampling wine and delicacies from strategically placed trays. Music piped from hidden speakers, and there was a clear space at the very back of the room for dancing, although no one was doing that yet.

The guests were more interested in mingling, and arguing. Booth had already heard two disagreements break out, about politics or imagined insults, but the people involved had ended up laughing it off. None of the uniformed guards stationed around the building had had to step in. But Booth got the sense, from people's eager expressions, that heated arguments were all part of the entertainment.

Now he noticed another open space near the front of the lab platform and main entrance. That corner did not have any seating or decorative items. Nothing but some ominous hooks set into the wall, near a wooden column that looked suspiciously like a whipping post.

Brennan must have seen him looking in that direction, as she joined him in the doorway. Her voice came low and sultry. "Are you ready for some executions tonight?"

"Who's going to be carrying them out?" Booth made it sound like a joke, while realizing he might need a better plan for saving Hodgins' life.

She laughed. "Me, of course. I _am _the head of this institution."

Then she moved behind him and slid her arms around his waist, in a sure, confident way that gave him a very good idea of just how close their relationship was.

"Are you sure you don't want to change out of your undercover clothes?"

Booth wasn't sure he wanted to know _what _his alter ego would wear in this situation. And he was trying to keep his mind off her hands, resting just above his belt. "Nah, I'm fine." He slipped free of her grasp and turned with an arrogant smile. "As long as _you _think I look good."

Her lips curved. "Don't I always? But here, at least straighten the tie." She reached up to adjust the knot at his neck. She had taken her hair down from its ponytail, so its dark brown-with-blue-highlights cascaded over her leather-clad shoulders.

To distract himself, Booth asked if _she _was going to change. Bones gave him an odd look and said, like it should have been obvious, "Not until after the punishments."

Then she looked out at the crowd. "Not everyone's here yet, but it already looks like a good turn-out. And _that_'s good for business. More patrons, more fees and donations…" She put one hand on her hip, raising an eyebrow. "We could buy some new toys, or even get new pleasure rooms downstairs."

Booth tried to make his eyes glint in an appropriate way, and hazarded, "For them, or for us?"

She laughed. "Both."

A moment later, a flurry of voices greeted the arrival of more guests. Brennan's face lit up, and she raised her hands to smooth her hair. "Angela," she said, before hurrying out into the main room.

A couple had just come through the lab's sliding glass doors, accompanied by unobtrusive guards. Angela walked in on the arm of a very tall, muscular man. Booth realized it was her Fiji-fling husband, Grayson. But he didn't look like a fling now. He wore a smart three-piece suit, and the expression of a man who knew he was with the most attractive woman in the room. Which, Booth thought, he nearly was.

Angela had her hair piled on top of her head and was dressed in a gauzy, midnight blue ball gown, with a white fur stole around her shoulders. She and Grayson smiled faintly at the crowd's _oohs _and cheers. They smiled with the lazy, dangerous confidence that comes from money and power, and the willingness to do anything to protect it.

With Booth shadowing her, uncertain of his role, Brennan walked up to meet the elegant couple. She stopped a few feet away, while Angela regarded her with smoky, mysterious eyes. Brennan gave an elegant bow that looked like it came from an old movie. (Except, of course, for the black leather. Booth, behind her, could swear he heard it creak enticingly as it stretched taut over her ass.)

When Bones straightened, Grayson inclined his head graciously, while Angela made a brief curtsy in return. Then the two women stepped forward, took each other's hands, and kissed. Not the quick cheek kiss of friends, but a slow, hot melding of lips. There in the middle of the room, in front of a hundred people.

Booth's jaw dropped, and he realized exactly what kind of relationship they used to—or still did—have. The crowd definitely approved of this display, judging by the murmurs and whistles. Brennan's hands had found their way to the shimmery fabric on Angela's hips, while her hands rested on Bren's shoulders.

Too bad Hodgins isn't here to see this, Booth thought. He had a feeling the guy would be turned on, rather than jealous. Grayson, meanwhile, had narrowed his eyes in a way that looked appreciative, not angry.

The women took their time, with that slow, sweet tangle of lips. When they finally drew back, eyes sparkling at each other, Angela reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind Brennan's ear, and the tenderness of it made _Booth _a little jealous.

Then they turned to face the exuberant crowd. Angela looked the guests over with amusement, and said, "Let's get this party started!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3 **

Angela and Grayson stood on the steps of the lab platform to address the crowd. They thanked Brennan, her staff, and all the guests for showing their support. They bragged about the political gains they had made, and promised to further reward everyone who helped them.

"Thanks to our own brilliance," Angela beamed, "and assistance from many of you, we now have control of almost half the city. We're confident that in another few months, we'll have the whole enchilada. And tonight we're going to celebrate those victories! But first…" She waited for the cheering to die down, and looked to Brennan. "I believe we have some business to attend to."

Brennan nodded, then motioned to Wendall. They both strode over to that empty space at one side of the lab platform, and Wendall shouted, "Bring them out!"

The crowd standing nearest the wall parted, to allow the passage of several guards. Booth held his breath as three prisoners were marched forward: Fisher, Zack, and Hodgins.

Aside from the fact that their hands were cuffed behind their backs, they looked like the interns Booth knew: Zack with his shaggy hair, Fisher with several days' beard growth on his melancholy face.

They were made to kneel in front of platform, facing away from Brennan, and Angela and Grayson, who still stood on the steps. There was plenty of room behind the captives for Brennan to stalk slowly up and down.

The heckling crowd was arrayed to each side of the platform, with some people collected in front, near the glass doors.

Wendall cleared his throat and glanced at Booth. For a second, Booth was afraid _he_ was supposed to play a role. They all thought he had brought Hodgins in, after all. But then Wendall continued. He began reciting the charges against Fisher, who kneeled at one end of the row. Booth decided that Wendall must be the head of Brennan's law enforcement within the lab, whereas Booth himself had a similar position outside it.

This prisoner, Wendall was saying, consorted with the enemy. He'd been taken in by a beautiful, dangerous woman, who compelled him to spill secrets.

Booth noticed that Fisher kept glancing to his left, toward the wooden post, with something like fear and anticipation on his face.

The Jeffersonian, Wendall concluded, had its standards and confidentialities, and it could not employ people who were so easily swayed.

Now the saturnine young man tried to protest. "She threatened to use the pear of anguish on me! But I didn't tell her anything important! Only old stuff! Inconsequential stuff!" He looked desperately for sympathy in the crowd, and found none. Then he craned his neck toward Brennan. "Couldn't you just whip me again, like last time? That was a very effective punishment! I swear I didn't enjoy it!"

Brennan's face had been cool and impassive, like Wendall's. But at Fisher's words, Booth saw a tiny, cruel smile curve her lips. Booth himself stood alongside, clasping his hands behind his back and trying to look like he did this every day.

The crowd was hissing and chanting with threats. Fisher's face turned pale and hopeless. Now Brennan moved directly behind him, pulling her gun from its holster.

The crowd went quiet, and Fisher moaned into the silence. "I had no idea this miserable life would be over so quickly…"

Brennan stood with legs wide apart, both hands cradling her weapon. She fired without hesitation.

Booth saw the other two prisoners flinch as Fisher crumpled to the floor.

The crowd gave a low roar of satisfaction, but it died down when Brennan moved to stand behind Zack. Again, Wendall read the charges. Zack had betrayed the Jeffersonian. He had conspired against his colleagues, plotting with an outsider to stage accidents at the lab. He had allowed himself to be led astray, by lies passed off as logic.

Zack didn't try to plead, as Fisher had done. But this time Brennan spoke, too. She first addressed the crowd. "We don't have enemies to eliminate here tonight. Instead, we have people we thought were our friends. Zack was one of us. He would have been an asset to the team. But he cannot be let back into the fold after his transgressions. And he knows too much to be let go."

Brennan stood behind Zack, and now her voice dropped like she was speaking only to him. "Even if you stopped short of actual crime, you know we can't trust you again."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Brennan. My logic was flawed."

"Yes, it was. But we need more than pure logic sometimes. We need loyalty. We need… heart." Her eyes flickered down for a moment, and Booth was sure that she'd nearly looked at him.

"So." Brennan's face was stony. "Goodbye, Zack." She raised her weapon. Zack closed his eyes.

She shot him in the back of the head, and he slumped forward in a spray of blood. The crowd cheered again, while Hodgins shuddered.

Booth saw that some misted red drops had landed on Brennan's hand. She glanced down at Zack's blood on her skin, and the impassiveness wavered for a second. But then she wiped her hand on her leather pants, and looked up to acknowledge the crowd's pleasure for bloodshed.

Hodgins was the only one left, and he quivered. Booth steeled himself to step in and stop the execution. All he needed was a plausible lie, just to buy them enough time…

But he saw Wendall and Brennan exchange a look. When Wendall began his speech, it did not have the same note of finality. "Hodgins is _suspected _of espionage against us," he began.

The crowd hummed, waiting. Angela leaned against the lab platform's railing, her eyes keen with excitement.

"But in fact," Wendall said, "he has been working as a double agent, filtering vital information to us about the opposition, while giving them false clues to weaken their strategy."

Brennan motioned to Booth, and he realized that he was supposed to release Hodgins' handcuffs.

"He has worked tirelessly for the past two months, and it was in part due to his efforts, that our guests of honor," Wendall turned to acknowledge Angela and Grayson, "have made the political gains that they have."

As Booth leaned down to free Hodgins, he muttered, "Come on, up and at 'em. Role play." Hodgins managed not to look too shocked at the news he was already supposed to know. Booth hauled him to his feet, and he grinned madly at the cheering crowd, their sounds now free of alarming undertones.

Angela was coming down the steps, but Brennan turned to Hodgins first. "Excellent work, Dr. Hodgins." (So he was a squint here too, Booth thought. What was he doing, making chemical weapons?)

Her voice might have been the Bones he knew, but her actions were not. She leaned in and kissed Hodgins, while Angela and the crowd watched gleefully. Perhaps it was gratitude, but looked nearly as sexy as the kiss between the two women.

By the time Brennan released him, Hodgins had turned a deep shade of pink. Now Angela grabbed his shirt front and purred, "I'd like to reward you more thoroughly later. But for now…" She planted another kiss on him.

Music started up from somewhere, and when Angela drew back from the now gasping Hodgins, she pulled both him and Grayson toward the couches and trays of food.

Wendall raised both fists in the air. "On with the party!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4 **

There was a brief interlude of mingling before the next activity. Guards had appeared to remove the prisoners' bodies and clean up the blood. Before Booth knew it, the space was clean and bare once again, and uniformed men were laying mats down on the floor.

Angela came back, trailed by avid supporters. Now a group of young people was paraded over to stand in a row next to the mats. They were dressed in nothing but tiny black Speedos or bikinis, and Angela was looking them over with a salacious smile.

Good God, Booth thought, what kind of debauchery do they have planned next? He recognized about half the kids as interns from his own world. Angela leaned over to whisper in Brennan's ear. She nodded, then pointed at two of the men. "Clark Edison. Vincent Nigel-Murray."

It was a wrestling match, Booth realized. Half-naked, of course—more for the viewers' pleasure than for any actual sporting value. Booth almost didn't want to watch. And he didn't think much for the skinny British kid's chances, up against the stocky but ripped Clark.

The two faced off on the mats, then lunged for each other and started grappling. Angela, standing at the front, was clearly enjoying the show, and Brennan, too, had an indolent smile on her face. But Clark didn't win easily after all. Nigel-Murray was more slippery and tenacious than he looked, and gave a decent fight before finally being pinned to the mat.

In the hubbub afterward, while new contestants were chosen and bets were placed, Booth threaded his way through the crowd to Hodgins. They stood by the lab platform's railing, at the edge of the onlookers. "What do you think?" Booth hissed. "Can we get out of here now?"

"Probably not." Hodgins said it through his teeth, while giving a nervous smile to some people in the crowd. "Those women have been ogling me ever since they heard I was a double agent. It would look pretty suspicious if we tried to skip out now."

"Hey, what about…" Booth paused while the next wrestling match started up. "What about the other versions of _us_, in this world? Aren't they going to show up any minute and prove that we're frauds?"

"I've been thinking about that. I don't know if any of the usual rules even apply, but… you can't argue with the conservation of mass, or how two objects can't occupy the same space. Or even the paradox about going back in time to kill your grandfather, which would—"

"Hodgins!"

"Okay, no, I don't think they're going to show up. It's like our being here replaced them, or at least our _consciousness _replaced theirs, and maybe they'll reappear after we escape…"

"But we're _us_," Booth said, "we're wearing our same clothes." This was giving him a headache. "You're saying we bumped them off somehow? That doesn't make any sense!"

"Dude, does _any _of this make sense?"

At that point, a mix of cheers and boos signaled the end of the second match. Booth wanted to say something else, but now that the current entertainment was over, a bunch of guests were elbowing their way toward Hodgins, wanting to talk to him. Being a double agent apparently had great appeal, and Booth saw him being borne away by half a dozen people, pulling on his arm, pushing drinks into his hand, and plying him with questions.

Booth met his eyes before he turned away, and tried to put as much warning into the glance as possible. There were far too many opportunities for either of them to give themselves away. They didn't know the intricacies of this world, but they had just seen, with Fisher and Zack, what happened to people who messed up.

For a moment he was torn between trailing Hodgins to see how he responded to everything, and staying with Brennan, as he thought his alter ego would do. But then she saved him from the dilemma by crossing over to the lounge area, where people were congregating for food and drinks. Brennan caught Hodgins' arm and said, "I have some questions for you. You'll tell me all about it later, won't you?"

Hodgins promised he would, but one of the well-dressed ladies next to him pouted and said, "You'll tell her but you won't tell us?"

Booth stood outside of the circle surrounding Hodgins, and noted that he seemed to have gotten over the shock of imprisonment and near-execution. In fact, he was enjoying this.

"Ladies…" He spread his hands. "I plead professional obligation. See, she's still my boss. And with the political situation unresolved… The victory will be ours, but we have to be patient, and it wouldn't be safe to reveal anything now. But for all of you, I can do the next best thing." He paused dramatically. "I'm planning to write a book about all my experiences, and I can make sure that you get the very first copies."

Booth groaned inwardly at Hodgins' tone, and the way the onlookers were just eating it up. The bug and slime guy was actually being treated like the "king of the lab" he was always claiming. And here, he could use his conspiracy theories to their full potential. Not in regard to the situation, but as stories to divert the crowd's interest.

Hodgins started telling the group about a mysterious colleague he had met during his recent adventures, and what that colleague had discovered. In an unspecified part of the world, this plucky agent had uncovered a government conspiracy to willfully deceive its citizens by withholding shocking information.

Booth recognized this tale as one of the pet theories Hodgins would sometimes harp on, to Angela or anyone who would listen. And it actually seemed to be working: the crowd hung on his every word like he was some squint James Bond.

Feeling somewhat reassured that Hodgins wouldn't do anything too stupid, Booth glanced over at Brennan, who had just touched his arm. She tilted her head and said, "You coming?" Then she turned, heading across the room toward her office. Booth didn't know what she meant, but it seemed like something habitual, so he followed.

As soon as she was inside her office, she shrugged out of the leather jacket and hung it on the wall. Booth noticed she was wearing a small silver necklace on a black cord. She must have had it all along, but he wasn't sure what the design was.

He noticed something new in the office: several large packing boxes sitting on the floor next to the desk. Brennan waved at them absently. "Overflow artifacts from the Authentications department. I'll have to get to those tomorrow."

Booth saw that the boxes were organized with padded dividers, and contained a variety of stone and pottery items. "Where are these from?" he asked.

"Libya, mostly." Bones perched on the edge of her desk. "I know you always like to hear how we re-authenticate things for foreign governments, but you'll have to wait this time. Obviously, we can't come up with new histories until we have an actual leader emerging, who can tell us the agenda we should follow."

She seemed amused by the idea, so Booth smiled back. But then she sighed. "It is a lot of work, though. Maybe we should use the funds from tonight to transfer staff to Authentications. Focus on our day jobs for now, rather than the nightlife."

"You're probably right."

"I wish we still had Sweets and Daisy." Her brow wrinkled with confusion and anger. "They would have been quite beneficial in Authentications. Ms. Wick with her attention to detail, and Sweets with his ability to manipulate people and tell us about their motives. Not that you can't do that, of course." Brennan hopped off the desk. "But I can't believe they defected to Caroline's side! Even if it was a reasonable thing to do, because she might be willing to give them more power than we would."

"Are you planning to kill them, too?" Booth tried to make it sound like an appealing prospect.

"Maybe. It's a good thing they didn't know any vital information. But once we have all the power—I mean, with Angela…" She met his eyes, smiling wickedly. "Why? You want to kill Sweets yourself? I know he can be very irritating."

"Nah," Booth said, praying it was true, "I have a secret soft spot for the kid."

"Really?" She smirked again. "You hide it so well."

She invaded his personal space, looking him up and down, but then brushed past him. "I'm going to change." She unlocked a heavy wooden door in the far corner of the office, which must lead to a bedroom. Before going in she said, "We're staying here tonight, like usual?" Another smile curved her mouth. "So you can drink, if you want. And we can verify all the new profits tomorrow."

Booth nodded dumbly.

He wandered around the office while she rustled things in the next room. She was still thinking out loud about plans for the museum work—very corrupt work, it sounded like—and Booth tried to make the appropriate responses. But he was still haunted by the image of her shooting Zack. His Bones, shooting two interns in cold blood, as entertainment. Except she wasn't _his Bones _at all. And yet…

There was a pause in the sounds from the next room, and she called, "Booth, what are you doing out there? I need you to zip me up." He turned just as she came out, and the sight stopped him dead.

Brennan was sheathed in scarlet satin. The dress came up high in the front, wrapping around her neck like tongues of flame. It clung to her torso as if painted there, before draping over her lush hips and falling to her knees in blood-red ripples. She'd put her hair up again, this time in a neat knot at the back of her head, with graceful tendrils framing her face. Strappy black shoes completed the outfit, with a low heel and shiny bands that crisscrossed over her ankles.

Brennan had one hand at the back of her neck, holding the unzipped fabric together. She stopped, seeing his expression. "What?"

"Uh… that dress." What would his counterpart say? "It's pretty fucking hot."

Now she grinned, and turned so he could fasten the zipper. "You've seen it before."

He found himself staring at a great deal of bare skin. The dress had only narrow panels wrapping her shoulders, and it dipped far down to her lower back. He said, "I don't think so," and pulled the tiny zipper above her shoulder blades.

"Really?" She turned to face him again. "Well… I know Angela says I should wear a full-length ball gown for events like this, and probably higher heels, but then, you never know when you might have to run and tackle someone, right?"

When she moved, Booth had caught sight of a faint shape outlined under the skirt. "Or," he continued her comment, "you wouldn't be able to pull _this _out of hiding." He boldly ran his hand down her satin-covered thigh, trying to tell what type of weapon was holstered there. A little pistol? A big knife?

She chuckled and swatted his hand away. "You're the one who told me never to be without it, just in case. Now—"

Without giving him time to think, she grabbed his tie in one hand. Slinging it over her shoulder she turned, leading him like a dog on a leash. "Come on. I want to dance."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Oops, I fell off from a regular posting schedule. Blame RL and my 'serious' fic. But there's more fun to be had here, so I promise not to let it go.

**Part 5**

The party was now in full swing. Guests circulated around the lab, from the dance floor to the couches and trays of food, which were refilled by black-and-white-clad waiters.

Now that Booth had more time to observe people, he noticed the odd blend of clothing that the women, in particular, were wearing. Half of them were dressed in modern cocktail dresses, black being a popular color. But the other half looked like they were attending a costume party, with old-fashioned ball gowns. Angela's long, rustling blue dress might be included in this category. But maybe _old-fashioned _was the wrong word, Booth thought, as Brennan led him onto the dance floor. This felt a little bit like prom, but more sophisticated, and definitely more edgy.

Brennan slid her arm along his shoulders, gripping his hand, and he managed to get his own hands into place without too much hesitation. As they started to move to the music, that silky crimson dress swished across his knees, and his hand on Brennan's waist found the very warm, very bare skin of her lower back.

The music playing over hidden speakers sounded like a jazzed-up classical number: a bass line and dance-worthy beat set to a violin melody with synthesized undertones.

Booth didn't know if there were certain steps he was supposed to follow, but before he could worry too much, he realized Brennan was leading. With a firm grip on his hand, she started to push forward, and he had no choice but to retreat or get his feet stepped on. Still, he saw a gleam in her eye that looked both sinful and smug. He couldn't help responding to it. When they got close to the edge of the dance floor, he turned them swiftly, and started pushing her in return. She yielded, gracefully, a lusty sort of promise in her eyes.

They continued the amorous duel through two songs. When Brennan left him on the dance floor with a smile and a slow caress along his cheek, he stared helplessly after her.

Damn. Little chance of getting a cold shower around here, was there?

What if, Booth wondered, Hodgins and I can't get out of here? Once the party's over, she's going to expect me to…

Speaking of Hodgins… Booth glanced around, and found him looking as breathless as Booth felt. Angela had just left him on the edge of the dance floor in much the same way as Brennan. Now a slow jazz number came on, and the two women met in the center, to partner each other. Booth elbowed his way over to Hodgins and gave him a poke, so he'd remember to close his mouth and stop ogling the two women.

"You haven't given us away yet, have you?" Booth muttered.

Hodgins drew himself up. "Dude, give me _some _credit. I haven't just been answering questions. I'm trying to ask ones too, surreptitiously, to find out whatever I can."

Booth had been planning to do the same thing as soon as he had a chance. "So, what have you found out?" Hodgins deflated. "Nothing much."

Someone must have turned up the music, with the thumping beat that now emanated from the sound system. The revelers were getting louder too, laughing and whooping out of sheer exuberance.

"Come on, let's find somewhere quieter." The two of them slipped away from the dance floor, to the edge of the lounge area.

A serving man glided by holding a tray of champagne, and Hodgins leaned over to grab a glass. "What?" he said to Booth's questioning look. "We don't have to starve while we're here." He picked a cocktail snack from another tray.

"Yeah…" Booth ducked around a tall potted plant, and took some appetizers of his own. "But I don't want you getting your mental faculties impaired while we're both still trying to stay alive."

"Okay, you have a point." Hodgins put the glass down. He stared at Booth eating the hors d'oeuvre and said, "Oh, no. I just had a terrible thought."

Booth paused mid-bite.

"These versions of _us _who belong in this world? What if they traded places with us? What if they're in _our _lab right now?"

"What?" Booth said. "Why didn't you think of that before? But we're the ones who fell through that mirror. How could it—it somehow pulled them into our world?"

"Conservation of mass, it has to be! We can't just vanish from our universe without, like, some kind of exchange."

Booth finished chewing, wondering what would happen. "If that's true… if that's even possible… you think they'd play along like we're trying to do?"

Hodgins didn't seem worried anymore. He got a far-off look in his eye. "I bet Angela would like that I'm a spy. Right? A double agent? This has huge babe-magnet potential. I mean, I've already had to fend off about a dozen ladies—"

"Is that all you can think about?" Booth scoffed. But he couldn't help thinking about it too. If the other version of him was in the Jeffersonian right now… and behaving as though he had an intimate relationship with Brennan… No. She would either take him to the hospital to have his head examined, or he'd have to go himself, depending on how hard she hit him.

"Maybe they've declared us missing by now," Hodgins said through a mouthful of appetizer. "It's been, what, six hours?"

"That's too short a time to be officially declared missing. But this is your fault," Booth jabbed a finger at him, "if I get fired for never coming back to the Bureau, because we fell through some goddamn fun-house mirror."

At that moment they noticed several women in little black dresses trying to sidle up to Hodgins.

"Not again," he groaned.

"Yeah, you secretly like it." Booth made as if to leave, but Hodgins hissed after him.

"Hey! You warn me not to do anything stupid and then you just let me fend for my—" He stopped, giving his audience an exaggerated smile. "Ladies… as I told your friends earlier, I can't divulge anything about my experiences at this time. I have very sensitive information that could negatively impact the political climate…"

Booth threaded his way through the crowd, to see where Brennan was, before he decided what to do next. But he didn't have far to look. A commotion broke out among the dancers, and Booth saw the crowd scatter back from the center. A man sprawled on the shiny dance floor, grimacing, one hand over his face. Brennan stood over him with her fist clenched and her red skirt rippling.

Booth pushed quickly through the crowd to her side. Angela was there too, looking at Brennan with amusement and admiration. Now a couple guys were helping the man off the floor, and he looked much too disoriented to pose any threat.

"He was trying to cut in on us dancing," Angela explained, "and wouldn't take no for an answer."

"He was clearly intoxicated," Brennan added. "And then he made a lascivious comment. So I hit him." She held out her hand, studying her knuckles for damage, then shrugged.

Booth glanced at the security guards hovering nearby. She obviously didn't need them, or him, to watch out for her.

He said the only thing he could. "Nice shot, Bones."


	6. Chapter 6

**Part 6**

Booth spent the next hour of the party scoping out the crowd, eavesdropping on conversations, and looking for an opportunity to slip away unnoticed.

But he didn't have to worry as much as Hodgins about giving himself away. People weren't paying him very much attention. Well, he did get appreciative looks from a variety of women, but they didn't approach him. Was that because they didn't think he was very exciting, whatever his role was? Or because he clearly belonged to Brennan, and no one would risk her ire to make a move on her man?

As Booth made a slow circuit of the room, he saw a few off-duty guards collected in one corner. A dart board hung on the wall, and they were starting a game, with friendly insults and wagers.

One of them was Wendall, along with two security guards who looked vaguely familiar from the Jeffersonian that Booth knew. They nodded at him, and it was easy to come up and join the game.

A bottle of alcohol sat on a nearby table, and Booth poured a few drinks. It couldn't hurt to loosen their tongues, right? They all took their drinks and watched Wendall cast his darts first. When it was Booth's turn, he sighted at the board, and threw with a flick of the wrist.

In between shots, he glanced at the two guards. The younger one was a nervous-looking kid with a crew cut, while the older one was balding and slightly overweight.

"You've been here a while, right?" Booth asked him.

"Going on fifteen years now. I'm showing Paulsen here the ropes." He jerked his head at the new kid.

Perfect, Booth thought. He could ask leading questions to try to get ideas about this world, and pass it off as education for the newbie guard.

"So, how are things now compared to when you started?"

The man shrugged. "Everything has its ups and downs."

Paulsen stepped in with a question. "You were here before Goodman, right?"

"Yeah, kid. I'm really old," he said with sarcasm. "Goodman… he was a good guy. Ha—a good man." He laughed at his own joke, then threw a dart and grunted to see where it landed. "Things went downhill after he was deposed. But times are definitely better now than when Cam was in power."

"And that," Wendall said proudly, "was only six months before Brennan overthrew her. I mean, before her untimely death."

The older guard chuckled. "That was something to see, huh? Two beautiful, treacherous women locked in a power struggle to be queen of the Jeffersonian."

"Rumor has it…" Wendall leaned close to Paulsen. "Angela helped Brennan poison Cam, in exchange for help taking control of the city. And, you know… because they were lovers." He shot an apologetic glance at Booth, as if he'd get jealous.

"No one can prove the poison, naturally," the older guard said. "Probably something that changes composition inside the body and can't be detected."

Booth tried to sound careless. "Probably. Because my brilliant scientist can pull off anything."

"She knows what can't be traced," Wendall said with a conspiratorial smile. "But I don't know if she'd have risked it, if she didn't have you by then. Still… I wouldn't want to get on her bad side, right?"

Booth forced a grin at the joke, silently agreeing. He listened to the rest of the conversation with one ear. It was getting more drunken now, and didn't give him much in the way of information. The other men laughed and drank, throwing darts onto the board with a satisfying thunk.

The other side of the room still pulsed with music and the hubbub of revelers. Booth felt his eyes drawn to Brennan as though he could predict where she'd be. She was talking to Grayson at the edge of the dance floor. He seemed to be telling a story of some exploit and, while Brennan's back was to Booth, he could see her nodding and making comments.

This gave him an excellent view of the bare skin exposed by her dress. When she laughed and moved her arm in a gesture toward the dance floor, Booth saw the muscle definition shifting across her shoulder blades.

God, she was beautiful. Was his Brennan that toned? Not that he saw her naked skin very often… but he didn't think so. What else _was _she in this world? Hodgins was a double agent. Angela and Caroline were trying to rule the city. Bones killed people in cold blood. For all he knew, she was also a whip-wielding dominatrix who could throw knives as well as he could.

Wendall laughed at a crude joke the younger guard had just made, and Booth played along. He was only sipping his drink, trying to make it look like he was consuming more than he was.

Now Brennan turned to include someone else in the conversation, and Booth found himself admiring her hairstyle: the rich brown highlighted by streaks of blue. He never thought he'd see Bones with an unnatural color in her hair. She wouldn't see the point, would she? She would call it frivolous, or she would launch into some lecture about all the body modifications used by people of different cultures.

Booth looked at the teal streaks, curving neatly along her head, and then looping through the knot of hair at her neck. There was something rebellious and adolescent about it. He had to admit, he liked it.

Then the game of darts ended, and Booth realized the party was breaking up. Wendall excused himself with some comment about "last-minute reservations." The crowd had begun to disperse, with some people collecting their coats and heading for the exit. From their still-boisterous level of energy, Booth guessed they would continue the party at another location, rather than going home.

Other guests walked lazily toward the back of the building. Mostly couples, but a few larger groups. And by the way they moved, Booth was sure they were headed to the basement pleasure rooms. There went one couple whose hands were roaming all over each other. And there was a woman leading another…on a leash and collar.

The party was not, in fact, over. But its tone had changed. Had someone dimmed the lights? Booth lingered near the wall, feeling it was a secure vantage point where he could observe his surroundings. He jumped at a noise behind him, and turned to see two people in a shadowy corner, half-concealed by a large potted plant. The guy had a woman pressed up against the wall, and… Well, that was another advantage of a dress that wasn't floor-length. The man's hand slid up the woman's bent leg, pushing the fabric higher and higher. Booth slunk away, rather than watch. Apparently, some people weren't going to bother with getting a room.

Now the "reservation" comment made sense, as Booth moved across the room. Wendall and another intern stood at the head of an impatient line of people, handing out keys and jotting down names in exchange for cash. Booth recalled Brennan's comment about the profits from tonight. _We could buy some new toys, or even get new pleasure rooms downstairs…_ _For the guests, and for us._

At that point, Booth stopped just observing. He started actively looking for Hodgins. It was high time they got out of here. Maybe, with all the comings and goings, no one would notice. If they could get downstairs and find that mirror…

But he must have been distracted by the dim lights, the hot and heavy couples in corners. He never heard Brennan approaching, not until she was right next to him and had taken his arm. Then her lips were at his ear, her warm breath making him shiver. "Where have you been for the last hour? If I didn't know better, I'd think you were avoiding me."

Booth tried to come up with a response, but he'd just found Hodgins standing by one of the couches. Angela had found him too. She was holding Grayson's arm, and now she sashayed over, her long blue dress rustling. Before Hodgins could get his wits about him, Angela had taken a fistful of his shirt at the neck. Wearing a cat-like smile, she started leading both men toward the back of the lab.

"Hey, Wendall," she called. "We have our usual room, right?"

He said, "Absolutely. Just the way you like it."

She paused as she went past Brennan, who had her arm linked firmly through Booth's. Angela's smile got even more naughty… and speculative. Her eyes flicked over Booth, then fastened on Brennan.

"You two want to join us? For old time's sake?" She glanced back at Grayson and Hodgins. "I guess five might be a crowd… but I'm sure it would be fun."

Brennan looked amused, and just slightly regretful. "Not this time." She smiled at Angela. "I don't like to share you. And Booth doesn't like to share me."


	7. Chapter 7

**Part 7**

Booth was not quite sure how he got across the lab and back to Brennan's office. He felt the way Hodgins had looked when Angela led him away: half euphoric, half in fear of his life.

Now Bones was opening the door in the corner and preceding him into her private room. With a swish of that red dress, she walked inside, and he followed. But wait, he thought belatedly. Why didn't I _do _something? I shouldn't have gotten separated from Hodgins. We could have made up some lie about business details we needed to check, and…

Brennan was locking the heavy wooden door behind them, sliding several bolts into place. Booth took that second to get a sense of the room. Two windows on the left. Arm chairs to the right. Bed in the center.

He tried to act like he came here every day, and went over to one of the chairs. It looked like something he might have picked out: a big, cozy, dark leather thing. Brennan had flipped a light switch, which turned on several lamps around the room. Now she perched on the other chair to take off her shoes. Leaning back, Booth watched her with what he hoped was a pleased, languid expression. The chairs were arranged in front of a fireplace, and he couldn't tell at a glance whether it burned actual wood, or was one of those electric ones.

Brennan unwound the straps from her ankles and slipped out of her shoes, then got up again. "I'll be right back," she murmured, pressing one hand on his shoulder. She headed for a door in the corner, to the left of the bed. Bathroom, Booth thought. And once she closed the door, he could take in his surroundings more thoroughly.

The left wall featured tall windows covered with gauzy curtains—and metal bars. Between the windows sat a wardrobe type thing, with drawers at the bottom half and doors at the top. Next to the bathroom was another door that looked like a clothes closet. The bed itself… it was large and luxurious, with dark wood posts and headboard, covered in a hunter green quilt. The room had little splashes of color like that, in contrast to the deep brown carpet. Red and yellow pillows sat on the chair, and over the bed hung a blue-green swath of fabric that looked like a watercolor painting. Booth wondered if some of the accent pieces were Angela's work, and then he was sure of it when he noticed photos and paintings decorating the other walls. He wanted to get up and examine them for more clues about this world, but he didn't want Brennan to return and catch him.

This one over the fireplace… Booth could study it without doing more than craning his neck. It was a nude painting of a reclining female figure, crafted in loving, sensuous lines. Although the style was partly abstract and the subject's face indistinct, somehow he knew it was Brennan.

The piece held a prominent location in her bedroom, and Booth wondered if his counterpart had dismissed jealousy to simply enjoy the painting, the way Booth realized _he _was doing.

He heard water running in the bathroom. Brennan was going to come out any minute. God, what should he be doing? He glanced up at the painting, desperate for a plan, an excuse, something. Sooner or later, he was going to see those sumptuous brushstrokes outlining her body… in the flesh.

He could tell her he had a headache. Or he could try telling her the truth. She was a scientist. She would be intrigued, right? He could show her that eerie mirror so her people could study it. Or they could study him, because there had to be _something _that would prove he didn't really belong here, that he was just visiting and meant no harm…

But—_but. _His timing was all wrong. He'd waited too long. Brennan… the way she'd been looking at him, touching him… those not-so-subtle hints all evening… They told him very clearly that now, she wasn't in the mood for garbled scientific theories. She was in the mood for sex.

And, God help him, so was he.

The anxiety of the party had kept him sober enough—despite her dress and her skin and the way they'd danced together. And it was nothing like witnessing some executions to keep his desire in check. But today… parts of it had felt like a teenage sci-fi fantasy. And now, despite the fears still chasing each other through his head… his body was ready and willing.

The bathroom door opened. Brennan hadn't been in there very long, and now she walked toward him, bare feet padding across the carpet, the silky crimson dress flowing around her thighs. Her hair was still gathered at the back of her head, a few tendrils trailing to her shoulders.

Booth watched her, his mouth dry.

If I try to tell her I'm not who she thinks I am, she might lock me up, or kill me. And Hodgins. Or she'll have the squints here subject us to horrible tests. She'll think I've been brainwashed, or that I'm betraying her…

No. I'm just going to have to man up. Make sure she's… satisfied. Then once she's asleep, I can sneak out. The best plan is to simply play along. Do whatever is necessary to maintain my cover. I'm a professional, right?

When she got close, Booth stood up to meet her. They didn't touch at first, but he gazed into her smoky eyes. Then he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She swayed forward as if toward a magnet, and kissed him.

It was the most invigorating mix of danger and familiarity he'd ever felt. Not that kissing Bones was exactly familiar. But so many things were: her confidence, and the way she smiled against his mouth. The smell of her hair, and the faint tingle of alcohol on her lips.

She pulled away with a satisfied hum. "You want to light a fire?"

He didn't even glance at the fireplace. "Nope. I've got all the fire I need…" His hands found the swell of her hips under the satin. "…right here."

She chuckled, sliding her hand up his shoulder and across the back of his neck.

Settle down, Einstein, he told himself. Better stop talking before you say something totally out of character.

Tugging him closer, she kissed him, with tongue this time. She swirled, advanced, retreated; he pursued.

They were both breathless when they broke apart. "Why are you still wearing so many clothes?" she asked, disapproving. She pushed the jacket back off his shoulders and swiftly unknotted his tie. Hungry, efficient, she slid it off his collar, and he shivered. While her fingers attacked his shirt buttons, his hands found her neck, then reached to free her hair from its knot. It took him a moment to undo the tie, but then her hair was cascading over his hands in heavy, shifting waves.

She rolled her head, appreciating his hands threading through the strands. But then she pushed his arms down so she could divest him of his shirt. It joined his jacket on the floor, and Brennan was kissing him again, hands roaming over the bare skin of his chest and back.

Fear still fought with desire and he thought, What if something else gives me away? Does the other Booth have scars or tattoos that I don't, or vice versa?

Even as he thought it, however, his own hands were sliding up and down her bare arms, then along the sides of her waist. She smiled against his neck, and sucked at his skin in a way that made him gasp. Pleased with herself and his response, she reached for his belt. She took her time unclasping the buckle, and he began to breathe harder. Keeping his hands on her waist, he gradually drew them up along the satin, until they brushed the sides of her breasts and she sighed, arching her back and almost pressing into his palms.

She held the front of his belt now, easing it free of its loops. He felt the added tightness right above his hips, until the strap slid free. She glanced down pointedly, then up at his face. She'd made him react, and they both knew it.

But he knew where the zipper on that dress was located. Resting his hands firmly on her shoulders, he pulled her forward. His hands delved under her hair again, to find that little zipper over her shoulder blades. Then he started to peel the dress down her body.

What did women wear under these backless dresses? He slowly revealed her toned shoulders, her creamy collarbone, and the valley between her breasts. Ah ha. She was wearing a matching red satin strapless bra. It was actually… it must be a stick-on thing, he thought fuzzily. Because how else was it staying on?

The dress had gotten hung up at her waist, and he started to tug it impatiently. She grabbed his wrist to stop him, then reached for another hidden zipper over her left hip. Finally, the fabric was free, and it slithered to the floor in a scarlet heap. She stepped out of it, then bent to pick it up and drape over a chair.

Booth stared. She was more gorgeous than he'd imagined. The crimson bra cupping her breasts… snow-white panties arching across her hips… and the weapon riding on her thigh in a black sheath. He'd guessed right: it was a big knife.

She straightened up and caught his gaze. Her eyes seemed to go darker and more focused as she stepped back to him. Before he knew what was happening, her hands were around his waist, caressing the muscles of his lower back and tracing the waistband of his pants.

Her contrast of hues was making him crazy: scarlet red, matte black, pure white. Despite the virginal color on her bottom half, her movements were anything but. Now she molded his ass in her hands and thrust her hips against him. They kissed, hard, her satin-covered breasts pressed into his chest.

She led him to the bed. He kicked out of his pants, while she deftly unfastened the knife holster and set it on the table. Then she threw back the covers, climbed into the center of them, and held out her hand to him.

-.-.-.-.

**A/N: **I'm not practiced at writing smut, but I hope this doesn't disappoint. And the scene is not over!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **M rated, baby. Short and sweet.

**Part 8**

Moonlight shone in silver bars across the bed. Shadows fluttered and shifted through tree leaves outside the metal-railed window.

Booth sprawled on his back, looking up at the dark wood rafters. Brennan lay on her side, one arm draped across his chest, their legs entangled. He was still trying to get a hold of himself.

Once they'd climbed into bed together, it was a passionate, breathless frolic.

They'd knelt half clothed on the mattress. He finally put his hands on her breasts, encased in scarlet satin, so that she purred and pressed herself against him. He grabbed the top of the baffling, stick-on bra, preparing to peel it down. Should he rip it right off, like the other Booth might do? "How's this work?" he grunted. "Won't it hurt if I—?"

She smiled, heavy lidded. "Never stopped you before. Isn't that part of the fun?"

He didn't know if he should be disturbed, or even more turned on. But the latter took precedence. Holding the edge of the garment, he pulled it quickly off. Her back arched and she sucked in her breath. Then she smiled, a dark, languorous smile. The next moment she was wriggling out of her underwear, and he followed suit, wishing he'd been the one to remove those sinful, snow-white panties. But now he had to act as though he'd seen her body before. To keep his eyes from getting too wide, from eagerly drinking her in.

She tugged him down, to settle on top of her. He had to taste her bare, delicious skin. His hands and tongue traced her neck, her shoulder, her breasts. He went lower and lower, heart pounding to hear her quickened breath, until she let out an impatient gasp, sat up and pushed him flat on the bed.

Bending down, she claimed his lips with a hunger that would be impossible to slow down. Then, so swiftly he couldn't think, she threw one leg over his hips and just like that, they were joined. He drew in his breath—she felt incredible. Her thighs, her hips, her everything.

She began to ride him, bracing her hands on his chest and shoulders. His eyes wanted to close at the sensations, but he couldn't miss a second. Stroking up her thigh, he found the perfect place to hold on. Her hips seemed made for his hands: every bit as luscious as that silky dress suggested.

Her eyes looked dark blue in this light. They mesmerized him. So did her lips and breathy sighs. And her fabulous breasts above him.

He took her hands and they held on palm-to-palm. She pushed against him to keep her balance, half wrestling, and he admired the muscle definition on her chest and arms.

Now her thighs gripped him harder, but she slowed down, looking into his face. He guided her hips with damp palms and for a moment, he forgot where he was. Forgot this crazy world, her leather clothes and blue-streaked hair—he could swear she was _his _Bones. Her feral smile had vanished, and she looked at him without teasing or pretension. He no longer feared discovery. Her eyes, dilated with simple passion and—love?—told him that right now, they understood each other perfectly.

But then her eyes closed and she picked up the pace again. His own breath was speeding up, while she kneaded his chest with her hands. Neither of them were going to last long, and he was grateful that for once, his timing was right.

Her skin shone like ivory in the dim light. He watched her face above him, a beautiful flush on her cheeks and throat. She was biting her lip, her neck arching back, and then she gasped, her eyes squeezing shut in the height of pleasure, where he followed a moment later.

-.-.-.-.

**A/N: **Whew. There's pillow talk next, but I need a break. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Sorry for the extra long break. I have, however, kept up regular installments of Reckless. But, for a change of pace…

**Part 9**

Booth lay dazed, feeling Brennan's fingers trace lazy patterns across his chest. A breeze stirred the leaves outside the window, and shadows fluttered over the blanket that half covered them.

One lamp glowed in the corner of the room. She'd dimmed the lights at some point; he didn't remember when.

It all happened too fast, he told himself. Playing along was the safest choice, and I—

_Safest_? Oh God, what about birth control? He'd completely forgotten about it. He couldn't _ask _her and give himself away. But she must have something—right? Maybe when she'd gone into the bathroom before…

Jesus. Just what he needed was to get Bones pregnant, and she wasn't even his Bones.

He realized she was watching him. They lay there, her thigh curved over the top of his, his arm around her shoulders. He stroked her warm skin and she said, "You were a little quiet at the party."

"Am I usually that talkative?"

"No… you just didn't seem like yourself. I thought maybe you saw Hacker there."

He shook his head. His boss was here, too?

"Well, that's good. I thought you might have been angry about his fruitless attempts to flirt with me."

How would his counterpart react to _that_? "They better be fruitless." Now Booth moved his hand to her hair, separating out a strand and twisting it around his finger.

"I know it's hard to keep taking orders and being nice to him. But you did agree that's the best way to keep him…" She paused, and glanced sideways at his hand in her hair. "…wrapped around my little finger. That is, until we can take control with Angela and Grayson, and you can have his position."

Whatever Hacker's position _is_, Booth thought. He pretended to be engrossed with gazing at her hair, the dark brown with its streak of turquoise.

"You could even kill him if you wanted. He can be quite tiresome."

Booth grunted.

Brennan pushed herself up on one elbow. "I know it's not easy to keep playing this role, but it won't be for much longer. Once everything is worked out, I can go on being the head of the scientific establishment, and you can be the head of city law enforcement. Surprising all those fools who thought you were just a big, dumb bodyguard." Her fingers started to tease over his chest and nipples. "You can show them how much you use your brain… in addition to all your other attributes." Her hand stroked lower down his belly and he tensed. She laughed, kissing his cheek.

As she did so, the necklace she was wearing caught the light. He realized she'd been wearing it all day, but he didn't register its design until now. A silver skull and crossbones on a black cord, resting at the top of her breasts. He reached out, running his finger under the cord, along her clavicle, and saw her shiver. Now her eyes looked murky rather than clear.

"Today makes ten people, you know."

He didn't answer, but tried to look like he knew what she meant.

"Ten people that I've killed," she went on reflectively. "For our advancement, or Angela's. But I remember what you told me after the first one, when you gave me this. You have to crack a few eggs to make omelets?"

I said that, Booth thought, about killing people? And gave her a morbid necklace to commemorate it?

"I know your number's higher. But you've got to keep track, right?"

"Right."

Something about her tone... She almost seemed proud, or that she wanted _him _to be proud. But her voice, her eyes…

He remembered how she'd stared at Zack's blood on her hand after she shot him.

She was bluffing.

She had to be bothered by this, but was she afraid to let on? What kind of person _was _his counterpart? Were the two of them keeping track of their murders like notches on a belt?

Or were they like teenagers, egging each other on and only pretending to be thrilled by the crimes?

She was studying him for a reaction, and he thought he'd better do something to distract her. He pulled her face down to his and kissed her, hard.

When he released her, she smiled. "I thought so. A good execution usually makes you more… stimulated. But when are you going to tell me how you got Hodgins out of his double agent situation?"

"Uh… Tomorrow."

Her sly smile returned. "Does that mean you're tired of talking?"

He put his hand on her hip and then brazenly squeezed her ass. "Yep."

Leaning down, she placed her lips against his neck. "Why don't you pick something from the toy chest?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Part 10**

Booth stood by the windows looking into the well-organized wardrobe. He'd opened both doors to see that the whole left side was devoted to… toys.

What on earth could he pick? Most of the objects were straightforward enough. Made to tease, restrain, sting or titillate. But a few things… Jesus, did another version of him really use _that_? Or—have it used on him?

As he stood there debating, he could bet that Bones was admiring his naked back.

He selected the safest thing he could find, and turned around.

Brennan lay watching him. Her pose looked a lot like the nude painting over the fireplace. But very very real.

God, he could look at her forever. The lamplight near the bed, and moonlight out the window, glowed gold and silver on her skin. Highlighting those long, strong legs. Shadowing the curve of her waist and breasts, and the muscles of her shoulder.

"Really?" she said. "So tame."

He glanced down at the item in his hand. It was a carved wooden dome a little bigger than his palm. Flat on one side, with a loop of fabric you could slide your fingers through, while the curved side was covered in rounded nubs.

"I didn't think you'd go for the massage hedgehog tonight."

"Massage hedgehog?" He couldn't help laughing at the term.

"What? You're the one who named it. Although its resemblance to an actual animal is vague at best."

Despite her complaint, she stretched herself under his gaze, her body lithe and indolent, her hands coming up to tangle through her loose, wavy hair.

Jesus, God. He couldn't help repeating it. Or asking for divine aid.

He found himself kneeling on the bed next to her. She met his eyes. "Whatever you like, baby."

His voice was hoarse. "Turn over."

She obeyed, and he marveled anew. At the view, of course. And her trust. She gave him the reins, and the power.

Just a massage, he told himself. Then she's got to sleep, so I can find Hodgins and get out of here.

He hoped his hands wouldn't shake. He started near the back of her neck, pressing the massager, then rolling it along her shoulders. Moving down her spine, he tried to let her reactions guide him. Her breathing, the tension of her muscles: where to linger, when to press more or less.

She pillowed her head on her arms, so he had a good view of her profile. Her eyes were closed, a faint smile on her lips. As he massaged down, to her lower back and buttocks, she murmured, "Harder."

That voice, on top of everything, made him crazy. If he went too cautiously, she might get suspicious…

He kneaded hard into her flesh, then drew back, looking at the pattern the wooden beads had left: a pink and white grid that quickly faded from her skin.

He wished it was his bare hand.

Still, he made a thorough survey of her body. And when he'd rubbed down her legs to his satisfaction, he had her turn over.

He could see the desire in her eyes. She'd slaked it fast, before, taking control for that first wild tumble. Now, it looked like slow-burning hunger. And despite the need to escape, he felt it, too.

This time he started lower, pressing the massager over her thighs.

"You're being so gentle today." She sounded languid and amused.

"Am I usually too rough?" He tried to make a joke of it. If they messed around with some of these toys, they must have safe words, right?

"No, not usually. More… boisterous."

"Well, if I ever get too _boisterous_, just whack me upside the head, okay?"

"I usually do. You know I like it that way. But…" She sighed, as he teased over her hips with the massager. "I can't be running the scientific community all day, and then keep giving orders in the bedroom at night."

"That's right." He played his role. "I'm in charge now."

Still, she watched him a little too intently. Was he acting that differently from his counterpart?

As he neared her breasts with the carved beads, she stopped his hand. "Are you sure you're all right? Don't you want to…?" Her nails dug into his skin.

What was she asking him? To let go? To be rough?

He stared speechlessly, feeling a surge of jealous, protective anger. _What does he do to you? Why can't you be _my _Bones?_

Finally he found his voice, and cast the massager aside. "I'm in charge," he growled. "And I don't always want to…" His hands descended on her breasts, while his lips found her neck. "…do things the same way. Got to keep you on your toes, right?"

He nipped at her skin, and she made a sound of surprise and pleasure in her throat. It was about the sexiest thing he'd heard.

Just for now, he would forget reality, and let the feeling take him.

Not rough. But not gentle, either.


	11. Chapter 11

**Part 11**

_Booth was startled out of sleep to find Brennan straddling his chest, pressing the cold steel of a knife to his throat. _

"_Who are you and what have you done with _my _Booth?"_

His eyes flew open in the dark bedroom. He was safe, for now; still undetected. Brennan dozed beside him, seemingly unaware. He tried to slow his breathing and listen to hers. She needed to be sound asleep before he made any moves.

Out of habit he scanned the room, but there was nothing to see except moonlight angling through the bars on the window. At times he thought he heard faint voices, like the sound of other revelers coming through the thick walls.

Now he looked at Brennan's silhouette beside him. As much as he needed to find Hodgins and get out of here, he felt strangely reluctant. What were things really like, between this other Booth and Brennan?

He knew Bones could take care of herself, no matter where she was. She'd slugged some overbearing drunk on the dance floor earlier. She probably had more martial arts skills than his Bones. She'd even said "that's how I like it" for rough sex.

But when she bragged about how many people she'd killed, he'd seen that hint of… something. Almost like she had to live up to the example his counterpart had set. What if the other Booth _was _completely warped, whereas this Brennan next to him…

She stirred, and he thought she might wake up. His heart beat faster, but she settled back into sleep.

What if I told her about that mirror? I could show it to her… I could even bring her back through it. Get her away from this twisted world.

But on the other side… What would happen to _his _Bones, if another version of her appeared?

And when he thought back on the things he'd seen today… She'd been wearing a familiar lab coat, standing over a body, and talking about manipulating evidence. His Brennan would never do that. She valued scientific integrity above almost everything else.

This Brennan… when they'd been lying here together, after the second time, she started musing about artifacts. He remembered those boxes in her office, that she had to sort through and "re-authenticate"—make up believable histories for the selfish purposes of foreign regimes.

She'd been toying with the massage hedgehog while she spoke, then held it up with a little smile. "This is from a different culture, you know. I've had it for so long I've forgotten the original context. And because we fabricate so many other histories, it's hard to keep the actual ones straight. But that's what's so interesting, isn't it?"

He recognized that light of scientific enthusiasm in her eyes.

"It would be strange to have only one fixed origin for each of these items. As if truth were some constant that you couldn't modify."

"Yeah," he grunted, so it seemed he was agreeing.

"This way is much better, to re-make stories that fit the current political balance. So much more exciting and challenging. Not to mention useful and profitable, right?" She gave a crooked grin, like his Brennan trying to make a joke.

He'd smiled back, feeling sick.

No, he told himself now. I have to get out of here. Alone.

But, when her slow and steady breathing told him she was asleep, he couldn't help brushing a kiss on her hair.

Then he rolled out of bed and silently collected his clothes from the floor. He pulled them on in the dark, then carried his shoes to the door. Feeling for the deadbolts, he wondered, Is Brennan in danger if I go and leave them unlocked?

It couldn't be helped. He slipped out into the office and closed the heavy door behind him. Then he stood in the shadows, listening.

No sign that Bones had woken up. No sign of anyone moving in the hallway, either. Booth bent down to put on his shoes.

Wait—there was someone. Swiftly he dropped to the ground and squirmed under the desk, behind the boxes of artifacts.

A person dressed all in black stole into the office. Booth crouched absolutely still, trying to get a better glimpse. There was something oddly familiar…

The figure moved into a shaft of moonlight from the window, and he knew.

It was _him_. The other Booth.

Hodgins had said that wasn't possible. Was it?

Booth hardly dared to breathe. He was pretty sure he'd be dead if he was discovered.

The figure paused at the bedroom door. Then he drew what must be a key from his pocket, and clicked the first lock. With the deadbolts already open, he swung the door, went through, and closed it behind him.

Booth stayed still for a second, stunned. He didn't know what he was waiting for. But he really wanted to know what was happening in that room. Would the other _him _be slipping into bed, the place he'd just left? Would Brennan just roll over and put her arm around him, or would she wake up and ask questions?

He had to get out of here. Ducking out from under the desk, he was halfway down the hall in a few seconds.

Where was Hodgins? What if he was still locked in some pleasure room with Angela and Grayson? Would _his _counterpart have arrived now, too?

Booth moved quickly around the edges of the large lab, or rather dance floor. A few couples still breathed heavily in dark corners. Skirting them, Booth rounded a plant and almost tripped over a lounge chair. A hand reached out and caught his jacket.

"Booth?"

"Hodgins! I mean… you're my Hodgins, right?

"Huh?"

"Yeah, you are. Come on, let's get out of here."

He pulled Hodgins off the sofa and they started back the way they'd come. By the light of a few dim lamps, Booth could see the other man's appearance. And it was probably what he looked like, too. Dazed. Disheveled. Giddy.

Booth asked, "How did you get out here?"

"Well, the two of them… We all… Afterward they decided I should go. So they just dumped me out in the hallway. I tried to find you but…"

"I just saw the other Booth go into Bren's bedroom. If she wakes up they could be on our tail in seconds. Come on."

He turned down a back hallway, trying to remember where the stairs were. Yep—here. But a sleepy guard was posted at the top. Seeing them, he roused himself.

"Hey. What's…?"

"Just some official business," Booth said, "that couldn't wait until tomorrow. I'll let you know if I need you."

"Uh, yes, sir." He waved them by, looking puzzled.

"Thank God I have enough authority around here," Booth muttered as they hurried along a basement corridor. "Now where the hell is that mirror?"

Hodgins was not being any help. When Booth paused at a turnoff, Jack bumped into him. "Would you be careful?"

"Sorry." He finally took a good look at Booth, and a silly grin spread over his face. "You and Brennan, huh? I mean, we always knew you two… But I didn't think _this _would be the way…"

"Yeah, and what about you? Angela already has you whipped in our world, so in this one…"

"Dude." He shook his head slowly. "You have no idea. I mean, they… I… I had to share her with Grayson. But he's… he's not bad looking, and Angela wanted—"

"Please! No details!" Booth started walking again, peering down darkened corridors.

"Yeah," Hodgins agreed, following him. "But you know what the weird thing is? I don't think I'm jealous anymore."


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: **Apologies for the long hiatus. I know that's frustrating as a reader, but I had to finish my longer story first.

**Part 12**

Booth and Hodgins hurried along shadowy basement corridors.

"We should have found it by now," Hodgins hissed. "What has it been, like twenty minutes?"

Booth glanced at his watch. It was more like ten, but felt longer. Every minute they spent looking for that damn mirror increased the likelihood that they'd run into some kind of trouble, namely the patrolling security guards. They'd already bluffed their way past one; it was lucky that none of the staff, after the evening's revelry, were on high alert. And Booth would be glad if he didn't have to lie—or kill anyone—while making this escape.

Finally, down a dead-end hallway, they found it. The recessed, drape-covered collection of mirrors, nearly identical to the one in _their _Jeffersonian. Complete with the large glass oval that had dropped them into this crazy place.

"Good," Booth said. "Now what?"

Hodgins shook his head cluelessly.

Booth reached out and tapped the mirror's surface. It was dusty and definitely solid. He tried pushing against it, like there was some seal he could break.

Hodgins walked around and peeked behind it. "Okay," he said, his voice a little shrill, "maybe there's something else we have to do. Or—some conditions from the first time that we have to replicate."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, like time of day and phases of the moon, or—"

"You're just making this up! You have no idea—"

"Dude, keep it down! You want the guards to find us?"

Booth heaved a sigh, trying not to clench his fists. But he spoke more softly. "Maybe… maybe it's a state of mind thing. Like Zen meditation or some kind of…" Bones would have the answer, he thought. _His _Bones. She would have the cultural example he was looking for.

Hodgins said, "I won't discount anything at this point. So, what were you thinking when we fell through the first time?"

"I was…" Booth frowned, studying the ornate frame of this big, spooky mirror. "I wasn't thinking much of anything. Bored, I guess… impatient with you… and then I just started looking at this thing…"

Hodgins stepped close, too, and peered at the murky glass surface. They stood there for a minute. "How long do we wait?" he muttered. "We've been stuck here twelve hours already!"

"Hey, simmer down. You're the scientist, not me. Just be quiet and think for a minute."

Hodgins slumped against the wall next to the mirror, grumbling.

Booth closed his eyes. What was the secret to getting back? It happened right away the first time… He wondered what was going on in that bedroom, with the Booth and Brennan from this world. He wondered what was happening in his own world. It was two in the morning; would he and Hodgins have been declared missing? If and when they got back, how could they possibly explain this?

Booth opened his eyes. The surroundings were unchanged: the dim hallway with its stone floor tiles and old style lamps, like torches in sconces.

Hodgins hadn't come up with any theories. "If this doesn't work," he said, "what should we do?"

Booth didn't answer. He was starting to feel sick, like he'd had too much alcohol, though he'd only sipped the drinks that party-goers shoved into his hands.

Then, he thought he heard something. It wasn't the footsteps of an approaching guard, was it? He cocked his head, listening.

It was coming from the mirror. His instincts told him to run, but he stayed rooted to the spot. Squinting at the unreflective surface, he thought he saw something. Then his ears roared, he listed dizzily to one side, and felt Hodgins take a death grip on his arm.

They were sucked into a whirlpool, passing right through the mirror like a curtain of water. A staticky gray maelstrom spun them round and round, with no way up or down and nothing to hold onto.

They tumbled out on the floor. Booth landed with a grunt, his cheek pressed into the tiles, his arm twisted uncomfortably under him. The first thing he noticed was how bright the overhead lights were. Even the floor was bright; these tiles weren't dark stone. Picking himself up, he glanced around.

"Man." Hodgins crouched nearby, holding his head as if it hurt. "I am too old for rides on the Tilt-O-Whirl." Then he looked up. "Did we make it? Are we back?"

"I sure as hell hope so. Come on." Booth hauled him to his feet, and they set off, cautiously, down the corridor.

Booth kept his eyes scanning and his ears alert. Modern-looking fluorescent lights… no dungeon cells or armed guards… and what sounded like the familiar hum of the air circulation system.

They wended their way through the maze of basement rooms, trying to remember the way out. Turning a corner, Booth looked down to the far end of the hallway. Two people stood at the entrance to what must be a storage room, one of them holding a clipboard. They both wore the light-colored lab coats that designated interns. _Our _interns, Booth thought. Not the indentured servants who'd wrestled, half naked, for the _other _Brennan and Angela to watch.

Upstairs, all was as it should be. The forensics platform glinted from the middle of the lab, its sterile silver lines uninterrupted by adornment or—Booth thought of the whipping post he'd seen—medieval accoutrements.

"Thank God," Hodgins breathed.

They saw Cam lecturing some interns, while Angela leaned against one side of the platform, chatting with a security guard. With this level of activity, it was clearly not two in the morning. Booth checked his watch, to find it had stopped.

Hodgins cast him an uncertain glance, then went up to the artist. "Angie…"

"Oh, there you are. You couldn't find it?"

Booth opened his mouth to say something about the mirror, before he realized what she meant.

"There shouldn't be that many paintings down there, but probably a couple different rooms where it could be." She paused. "Hodgins?"

"We… we were…" He caught Booth's eye. _They're never going to believe us_, his expression said.

"Well, if you only looked for fifteen minutes, there might have been some places you missed. Why don't you go back down there," Angela said, "and I'll promise to buy you a beer or something this weekend."

"No!" They both spoke before she'd even finished. "I mean," Hodgins stuttered, "you don't need to buy us anything. It's just… it's a mess down there. We nearly got lost."

Angela folded her arms. "Really?"

Feeling dazed, Booth tapped his watch again. They'd only been gone _fifteen minutes_?

"It shouldn't be that bad," Angela was saying. "The interns have been organizing everything." Then she glanced from one to the other. "Are you two okay? You don't look like yourselves."

Booth jerked his head up. "What do you mean? Have we, uh… Did we come up here before, acting weird?" Was it possible that people from the other world had gotten through, while they'd been gone?

"Um, no." Angela looked puzzled, but humored him. "Not any weirder than usual."

"Where's Bones?" Suddenly, Booth needed to see her.

"In her office, probably. Hodgins." She rounded on him. "Have you been sniffing the chemicals at your lab station? You're all flushed and twitchy." She reached out to feel his forehead, but he caught her hand.

"I'm fine." His voice squeaked. "I'm fine, Angie. Listen, um…" He smiled unconvincingly, still holding her hand. "You haven't… you know, by chance, been in touch with Grayson recently, have you?"

"What? Why would you ask that?"

Booth didn't stick around to hear the end of the conversation. He headed for Brennan's office.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her. She sat at her desk, writing with studious concentration. The office looked exactly as it should, and so did she. Hesitating a moment, Booth stood in the doorway, just out of her peripheral vision. He noted her lab coat, and the khaki one she wore outside, hanging by the door. She had on a blouse he'd seen before, and her hair was pulled back carelessly, like a knot unraveling into a ponytail. While he watched, she tucked a strand behind her ear and frowned thoughtfully, before putting her pencil to the paper.

Reassured, he stepped forward. She looked up, and he thought, Yes. Pure Bones: logical, transparent. No leather. No color-streaked hair.

"What are you up to?" he asked.

"I'm revising drafts of several papers that I've co-authored with interns. It's been a slow week in the lab, but there's always reading and research."

Booth smiled, intending to ask a follow-up question. But as he came over to the desk, he saw something that made his breath catch in his throat. It was the carved wooden dome from the _other _Brennan's toy chest. Sitting demurely on this desk, over a pile of papers. Booth stared at it, slack jawed. He'd kneaded that massager over her heated flesh, listening to the sounds of pleasure she made and the way she...

"Booth?" He hastily met her eyes, willing his body not to react to the memory. "I asked if you came over here for a case, or… But you seem very distracted."

"I'm fine!" She didn't seem to buy that lie. "It's just… Hodgins and I went looking for something in the basement that Angela wanted. And… we got a little lost. I wasn't sure we'd make it back."

"You're being facetious."

"No, Bones. I'm really not."

She frowned, but didn't have time to question him about it, because his cell phone rang. He'd almost forgotten he had the thing. When he dug it from his pocket and flipped it open, he saw that the battery was nearly dead. Because I haven't charged it. Because I haven't been _here_…

It was Charlie, telling him about a new lead on the major theft investigation they'd been working. "Right," he heard himself saying. "I'll be right over."

He put his phone back, to find Bones watching him with a curious expression. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yep. Great." He headed for the door, torn between disappointment and relief. "See you tomorrow, okay?"


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: **The research Hodgins cites is real. I read a summary of it in the science section of the local paper, from August 2011.

**Part 13**

Booth couldn't get back to the Jeffersonian for several days. The Bureau kept him busy with paper trails and interviews, but once he and Charlie made a couple arrests, he found some extra time.

Maybe it was a good thing he hadn't been idle. It would have given him too much opportunity to dwell on what had happened.

That night after he and Hodgins had gotten back, Booth's body clock was all messed up. He'd gone home and gone right to sleep, then woken up in the early hours of the morning. He remembered bizarre dreams: scenes of guns and leather and sex. And through it all, Brennan—he could never tell if she was _his _Brennan—with beautiful eyes and a dangerous smile.

He couldn't get her out of his head. How had she, and the other Booth, come to be so different? How had that world gotten so corrupt? He thought of his counterpart, whom he'd only seen as a shadow slipping between rooms. Was that Booth really a killing machine, while Brennan assassinated people to make him happy, or proud? The regret that flitted across her face after she shot Zack… had he imagined it? Seen what he wanted to see, because he knew _his _Brennan would never be so violent?

Now, when Booth made his way back to the lab, it was Hodgins he went straight to find. He found him in an office, studying some charts on his computer screen. Hodgins looked up, and somehow the uncertainty on his face made Booth feel better.

"You still remember, right?" the bug guy asked. "It happened? We're not crazy?"

"Well, we might _be _crazy. But yeah. I remember."

They talked about it. For both of them, the memories were fading, like a dream. Booth realized he'd forgotten certain parts, whereas others (all related to Brennan) remained quite clear.

Hodgins was nodding. "As clear as real life, though?" he asked.

Booth considered, then shrugged. He couldn't tell.

Hodgins stared at his computer screen. "I would say I dreamed the whole thing, except…"

"That I had the same dream."

"And there's evidence, right? I mean, of a sort."

Booth agreed. His watch had stopped. His cell phone battery was drained. He'd been exhausted, like he'd really stayed up until two a.m., on the strangest undercover mission of his life.

"What about the time difference?" he asked. "Or lack of it. No one even missed us, but it felt like hours to us."

Hodgins pushed back in his chair, shaking his head. "I don't think the usual rules apply. We were literally not in our own universe. We stepped out of it and then stepped back in. Hey, it's a good thing we didn't come back to find that ten years had passed, instead of ten minutes."

Booth didn't even want to touch that one. He _wanted _to get Hodgins' view on the object he'd seen on Bones' desk. But that would mean explaining where else he'd seen it, in the other Brennan's bedroom…

Hodgins glanced at the open door and leaned forward. "You know, the real evidence is still down in that basement."

They stared silently at each other.

"What should we do?" Booth said. "We _should _make sure no one else can get through, from either side."

"I know, but… Can you imagine the opportunity this is? To study it?"

Booth recognized that squinty light in his eyes. "Oh, no."

Hodgins was undeterred. "Listen, people have done research about alternate universes. You know, theoretical physics. Because there are at least a half dozen lines of reasoning that lead to that conclusion, that our universe might be one among many. The major trouble with the hypothesis is that it's almost impossible to test. But there was a team of cosmologists…" Hodgins reached for the computer and clicked a few things, to bring up a page of research. "They tried to find the observational signature of 'bubble universes' within the usual background radiation. The only way to find one would be to collide with it, and because that residual signature would be so hard to tease out, they created their own simulated versions of the background radiation, both with and without bubble collisions—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Booth was getting a headache. "Cut to the end."

Hodgins sighed. "They didn't find much. No evidence for other universes. But no conclusive evidence against them either. Don't you see? We have an unbelievable opportunity here. We could—maybe—send scanning robots through the mirror, connected on some kind of tether, and collect all this data to bring back, without having to risk actual people, and then…"

Hodgins perched on the edge of his seat with excitement. But Booth had a sudden vision of that other Wendall, with his military uniform and slick hair, finding a little robot wheeling down the basement corridor—then reaching for his weapon and blasting it to pieces.

"Hodgins. That other world was seriously twisted. Do you really want to find out more about it?"

"But that's what science is all about!"

Without warning, Angela walked through the doorway. "What is science all about? Oh, hey, Booth. I didn't know you were here." He couldn't think of anything to say, and Angela's mouth curved into a curious smile. "What are you two doing here, anyway? Is there something going on that I should know about?"

Great, Booth thought. The idea that I'm having a secret romance with Hodgins is actually more believable than the mirror universe. He started to concoct a cover story, that Hodgins was telling him about some conspiracy theory that involved the FBI, but Angela didn't probe for an explanation. "Well, let me know if you want to go get lunch," she told Hodgins. "And Cam said to tell you she might have a project for you, since it's been pretty slow here. Ask her for the details, okay?" She paused, then winked. "Just in case there _is_ something going on… call me to join in on the fun next time."

When she'd gone, Hodgins glanced at Booth with glassy eyes. He was freaked out, and Booth knew the feeling: Angela might be teasing, but the joke was much too similar to the way the _other _Angela had acted.

"She…" Hodgins croaked. "She was just as lovable, in her own way." His eyes were unfocused, and Booth didn't have to ask who _she _was. "Totally hot… But so wrong."

Booth thought of the other Brennan and Angela, kissing. Thought of Bones in black leather, cradling a weapon in both hands. "Yeah. I hear you."

But now he gave Hodgins a level stare. "You really want to study that mirror, in the name of science?"

"I, um—"

"Whatever went on between you and Angela and Grayson, was _that _in the name of science?"

Hodgins flinched, turning pink. "Okay, I take your point. But…" He gestured at the article on his screen. "What if there are _more _worlds? This could be… Even just the smallest amount of evidence, and this could be… We would be two of the most famous people on the planet."

"I thought you just wanted to be Jack Hodgins, bug and slime guy."

He sobered. "Maybe you're right. But there are so many questions and not enough answers. Don't you want at least _some _answer?"

Booth sighed. He still hadn't brought up that object appearing on Brennan's desk…

"I do want answers. But… Here's what I think. Let's go _look _at that mirror again. From about ten feet away. We should block off that area, so no one wanders down there by accident. And then… then we'll decide what to do."


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: **This is the last chapter! I hope you can live with a little mystery the way the characters have to. Based on reviews, this audience is small but dedicated. Thanks for reading. It's been a fun ride.

**Part 14**

Hacker called with a case, before Booth and Hodgins could go down to check the mirror.

Booth drove to the scene with Bones, letting her precede him to where the body had been found. Witnesses and police officers stood at a respectful distance under the trees. Booth circulated, asking all the relevant questions, but mainly, he watched his partner. How she moved confidently in the rain-wet woods, first to study the layout of the remains, then crouching down to examine them.

He couldn't help recalling his first view of the other Brennan. Standing over a body, with that turquoise streak in her hair, and dismissing an intern's suggestion: _No, they can see through that. We have to contaminate the remains more thoroughly… _She'd been proud of her team's excellence, because they could _make the evidence say whatever we want it to say_.

Booth shuddered, and chalked it up to the chilly rain.

When they went to the diner for an overdue lunch, Bones confronted him about why he'd been acting strangely lately. "Angela says Hodgins has been, too. But I suppose that could be a coincidence." She regarded him calmly over her cup of tea.

Booth flailed around a little, first thinking to play dumb, and then to make a joke of it. But she was too smart to be put off by such tactics. So he looked her in the eye. "I'll tell you the whole story someday, Bones. Suffice it to say… I had a weird dream last week. You were in it, Angela—everyone was, but they were all… different." He took the bottle of ketchup to squeeze over their shared order of fries. "You ever had one like that?"

He expected her to answer, 'I can't say that I have,' or 'define different.' But she said, unequivocally, "Yes."

He stopped with a French fry halfway to his mouth. "You have?"

She nodded. "Dreams where your surroundings look significantly different and you can't find what you're looking for, or… when people act in ways they never do in real life." She studied him over her salad—but did he imagine it? The way her eyes slid over him, and that little pause in her sentence… Somehow, he was sure _he _had figured in some of those dreams.

He was still off balance, seeing meaning in every little detail. But he had to keep this discussion going. "So, in these dreams… people might have traits or jobs or… skills that they don't actually have?"

Bones didn't bat an eye. "Or they say things that are out of character, that they aren't likely to say in everyday life."

Then she took a bite of salad and started talking about the remains they had found.

Booth listened with one ear. The rest of him was thinking, _what_? She had to mean actual dreams, right? Not mirror universes cloaked as dreams. And yet… she'd worked at that museum for a long time. She knew a lot of its secret corners. Was it possible…

"Booth?"

She'd caught him not paying attention to the case at hand. "Sorry. No, I don't have any theories about what happened to the guy. There's not enough information yet, right?"

"You often take pleasure in conjecture, well before we have adequate information."

"Maybe I'm getting more cautious in my old age. More _rational_."

"You're hardly old. But you're not highly rational, either."

Bones, he thought, you have no idea how irrational I can be.

But, judging by those hints she'd dropped, she had some pretty interesting stories to tell him, too. Even if they were just products of her subconscious.

-.-.-.-.

When he and Hodgins went back to the basement a few days later, Booth was careful not to get lost. He paid close attention to every turn they took, and even considered leaving a trail of some kind.

As they went farther, they encountered fewer museum employees, until the corridors were deserted. Booth saw that Hodgins' eyes darted around nervously. He'd half expected the guy to appear with some big scanning machine he'd borrowed, and to talk about measuring electromagnetic fields or cosmic radiation or whatever that mirror might giving off. But instead, Hodgins had a length of balled-up museum cord under his arm, that they could use to designate an off-limits area.

Booth stopped at a dead-end hallway. "I think this is it."

"Yeah. Okay." Hodgins took a deep breath and started edging down the corridor, as close to the far wall as he could get.

With Booth a step behind, Hodgins saw the exhibit first. "Oh, my God."

The mirrors were gone. All of them, leaving an empty display area.

Forgetting trepidation, they stood in the hallway, staring. Booth could see a dusty imprint on the floor, where the largest mirror had rested, along with drag marks to show it had been pulled out. But no footprints, no signs, nothing to indicate where and why the items had been moved.

Hodgins opened and closed his mouth a few times. "Well," he said, "somebody on staff must… We can find out who's in charge of this. I could start by…"

Booth looked at his dazed expression and quipped, "Does this mean you won't get on the cover of _Science_?"

-.-.-.-.

Two days later, they carried on a hushed phone conversation.

"I don't want Angie to overhear," Hodgins explained. "She seriously thinks we're dating, man. Why else do we keep spending time together?"

Booth looked up to make sure his office door was closed. "As long as she doesn't propose a threesome. Now, what did you find?"

"Okay, I've got the professor's name who should've been responsible for those mirrors. But he's—gone."

"What, on sabbatical?"

"I don't know! Just gone. He was here on a temporary basis, one of these visiting lecture-and-research things. And then, according to his colleagues, he was going to travel for a while, but no one could agree on where he would end up. And no one has the right contact information."

"Give me whatever you have and I'll—"

"No, it's—weird. I don't think you'll have any luck."

"I'm FBI, for God's sake. We can find anyone."

"I think…" Hodgins sounded strange. "I think this is a sign. That we should stop looking."

"What are you talking about?"

"Okay," he sighed, "there's more. I asked everyone I could think of, right? I made it sound like I just happened to find these mirrors and then got obsessed with curiosity about their context and time period and… I talked to the grad student who was working with this professor—his name is Dr. Sisko—but she didn't know anything. They didn't _have _any mirrors, as far as she knew. Maybe some fancy combs, jewelry and stuff that went down on the Titanic, but…"

"Shouldn't there be records of all this? Collections, acquisitions?"

"Yeah. I asked Angela to help me with that. But there were _no records_. Not for the ones we found. I mean, there were _some _mirrors. Individual ones, like belonging to famous historical figures, or part of a larger display. But no record of that many mirrors, all in a collection."

"That just doesn't happen, right? This place is meticulous about keeping records."

"I know. Angela didn't have a good explanation either. That professor must just have been storing them here, and we never acquired them at all. But even then, there should have been something…"

They kept talking in circles for a while. Why were there no security cameras in the basement? They could have seen who took the mirrors. And this professor—hadn't he left a number or forwarding address? Booth could still look into his whereabouts.

Hodgins went quiet after that. "Booth… I'm not sure I want to know."

"But you're the one who wanted to study this thing. You were the one saying, 'Don't you want answers to this mystery?'"

"I know, but…"

Booth thought of his time with the other Brennan, and how it haunted him. Did Hodgins feel the same way? Maybe not, if he couldn't claim Angela in that world. She'd only wanted him for a boy toy, because she'd been with Grayson…

Booth sighed. Mysteries. They'd talked about a few more over the past week. Like what'd happened to the other Hodgins? Booth's counterpart had shown up. But had Hodgins been captured or killed, during his spy activities? And the mirror—why did it only 'work' for Booth, sucking him in first? Arbitrary timing, or something else?

"I think," Hodgins said now, "this is one mystery we'll just have to live with."

Booth realized he wouldn't mind not getting another look at that creepy mirror. "Well, this saves us having to decide whether to study or destroy it."

-.-.-.-.

In the following days, Booth made perfunctory efforts to find the elusive Dr. Sisko. But Hodgins was right: the usual channels just didn't work. It was like the guy had dropped off the grid.

Oddly, Hodgins hadn't formed any conspiracy theories about that disappearance; as if their tumble through the mirror had spooked the ideas right out of him.

Now that the anxiety of their experience had worn off, Hodgins seemed to be smiling more. He looked content with his life and his job, exactly as they were.

Booth wished he could feel the same way.

Although he was working a case with Bones, he tried to avoid going into her office. Because that carved massager still sat on her desk like a damn paperweight.

If he saw it, he knew he would be reminded. Of moonlight shining through metal bars and gauzy curtains. Of dark wood rafters, and golden lamplight on ivory skin.

If Bones smiled at him a certain way, at the diner or just in the car, he would see her eyes dilated with lust, and hear the way she'd surrendered to him, pressing the massager into his hand. _Whatever you like, baby. _

But one afternoon, he found himself standing by her desk, listening to her talk about the victim's bones. She was describing the marks left on them and musing about what other tests she could do; and even if it was totally unprofessional and weird, for Booth to be thinking sex during a murder investigation, he couldn't keep his eyes off the 'paperweight.'

This time, she caught him staring at it.

"Booth? Does this interest you?"

"Uh… no, I just… thought I saw it someplace before. What…" He had to clear his throat. "What is it?"

She picked it up, and he realized it wasn't exactly the same as the one he'd seen. This one had no loop of fabric on the underside, to slip over your hand. Instead it had a hole through the base, where a small wooden cylinder was stored. Bones drew it out, then ran it smartly over the ridges on the dome. It made a music _Rrrt _sound.

"I got this from a colleague in Southeast Asia. It mimics the sound of a frog croaking. Sometimes they're carved to look like animals, frogs or lizards, with ridges down their backs. Angela has seen them in American catalogs. But this one is authentic, and it can create more variety of tones." She ran the stick over the beads again, and Booth nodded to show he agreed.

But he was really thinking of lying in bed with a woman who looked exactly like Bones. Except for strands of blue in her hair, and a silver skull necklace on a cord. She'd trailed her fingers over his naked chest, toying with the carved massager. _This is from another culture, you know. I've had it for so long I've forgotten the original context. When we fabricate so many histories, it's hard to keep the actual ones straight. But that's what's so interesting, isn't it?_

"Booth?" Brennan held the object out to him, so he could try making the sound himself.

He shook his head, stuttering. "No, so that's it, huh? Just a… frog croaker or paperweight." He knew his voice sounded strange—too much doubt or relief—and she noticed.

"Why? Do you know another use for it?"

Her tone sounded straightforward, but just for a second, her mouth twitched with the hint of a smile. As he met her gaze, her eyes glittered: the same dangerous poise her counterpart possessed.

Booth felt his blood heat in response. Fire and boldness brimmed inside him, and he stepped forward, putting one hand on the desk and leaning over her. He saw a question in her eyes, at his behavior, but that challenging gleam still teased him.

Suddenly he knew he could make one dream a reality. He would find out what dreams she had experienced. He would tell her—something—about his.

Bones still held the musical paperweight in her hands, waiting for his answer. _Do you know another use for it?_

"Yes, I do. And someday, Bones, I'm going to show you."


End file.
